‘I’ll walk you to the metal barrier,’ Hannes suggested.
‘Yup.’
They closed the door and locked it. Wandered down the main road. It took them a quarter of an hour to reach the barrier near Glenna. They stopped and exchanged a few words.
‘Put your jumper on if you get cold.’
‘I will, Papa,’ Theo said.
‘And don’t leave any rubbish behind. Put it in your rucksack after you’ve eaten.’
‘I will. I’ll clean up after me.’
‘If you use the knife, do so carefully. It’s sharp.’
‘I’ll be careful, Papa. I promise.’
Then Theo turned and walked on. He had inherited his father’s big feet, and in the enormous trainers, he reminded his father of a little tottering duck.
Hannes watched his small son until he disappeared round a bend. Then the boy was absorbed by the forest.
Wilma Bosch wasn’t merciful.
Though they were still attractive, the soft cheeks Hannes had admired had disappeared into a pair of bleached jeans. But he knew better than to put his claws on them, because now she was on the offensive.
‘How will he cope if something happens?’ she said.
‘What do you mean, “happens”? Nothing will happen in the woods, Wilma. There are only acorns and hares as far as you can see. What are you really afraid of?’
Wilma moved to the window facing the road. She had clogs on her feet, and they clopped against the wooden floor. Even though she couldn’t see Theo from there, it was her attempt to get closer to him.
‘You ask what could happen,’ she said. ‘A lot, Hannes. An eight-year-old boy is so helpless. He could slip on the rocks, then hit his head and fall in the water. There are snakes and they’re big this year, at least that’s what everyone who knows anything says. There are cows grazing, and moose. Sometimes they attack people,’ she said. ‘You know, when they have young.’
Hannes tried to digest what she’d said.
‘You’re afraid he’ll be afraid,’ he said. ‘Is that what this is all about?’
‘Yes. He’s just eight!’
‘But everyone’s afraid now and then. Maybe he’ll hear strange sounds in the trees, and maybe his heart will leap.
But so does my heart, and I’m thirty-eight. I could slip on the rocks too, hit my head and end up on life support. With no contact with the rest of the world. If we were to discuss all the things that could happen.’
Wilma fell into a chair so heavily that it moved a few centimetres. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I think all that Lars Monsen stuff is too much.’
She pouted. She had folded her hands in her lap, and Hannes noticed the remains of dark red nail varnish. It looked as though tiny drops of blood had trickled from her nails. He patted her arm lightly then reached into his pocket for his mobile. He punched in Theo’s number and waited. He pushed the speaker button so Wilma could hear.
‘Howdy, Theo,’ he said. ‘How far along are you?’
Wilma sat listening to the short conversation. She imagined, at that instant, her son on his way into the big forest.
‘You’re past Granfoss?’ Hannes said. ‘OK. Have you run into anyone? … No one? What about animals? … No, OK.… You’re not cold? … Good, good. Put on your jumper if it gets cloudy … You’re out of breath,’ he added. ‘Are you going up the hills over towards Myra?’
‘About halfway,’ Theo panted. ‘I may have to rest a bit.’
‘You don’t need to rush. You have the entire afternoon. Your mum wanted to know that all was well. You know how it is with women.’
Theo’s voice could be heard clearly through the mobile’s speaker. ‘All’s well.’
‘Can you repeat that?’ Hannes asked, smiling at Wilma.
‘All’s well.’
‘And you’re not afraid or anything? You haven’t heard any scary sounds in the woods?’
At that, Theo’s laughter rolled through the room. ‘No scary sounds, and I’m not afraid.’ His boy’s voice was soft and clear as a bell.
‘Could you call us when you reach the water?’
‘OK, captain.’
Hannes ended the conversation and put his mobile on the table.
‘I will tell you one thing,’ Wilma said. ‘Bears have been spotted as far south as Ravnefjell. It was in the paper.’
Hannes Bosch tugged at his hair. ‘Ravnefjell! He’s just going to Snellevann. Honestly, Wilma,’ he said and took her hands. ‘Are you afraid that Theo will run into a bear? You’re not quite yourself. Did you take too many painkillers?’
He couldn’t help but laugh, because now he thought she had completely lost it. She pulled her hands from his.
‘I hate it when he leaves the house,’ she admitted. ‘When he’s out of my control. It drives me crazy.’
Hannes touched her cheek. ‘I know,’ he whispered.
At that moment Hannes Bosch felt carefree. ‘It’s a dangerous world out there. People drop like flies. Let’s sit on the porch and drink a bottle of wine before the bear gets him.’
Theo stopped at St Olav’s Spring.
The water glinted, and was almost silver fresh.
The spring was marked with a small sign that outlined its brief history. His father had read it to him many times. He stood there for a while paying respect, because the water in the source was holy, and to him the water had its own special shine. St Olav was a holy man, Theo thought, and his spring was too. So if I drink from it I’ll also be holy. He drank big gulps of the fresh water, and he thought it tasted good. Some believed the water had healing powers, and he felt it too — that his energies were renewed.
He pushed on. The holy water had given him new powers, he was certain. He used his eyes and ears, but everything seemed quiet and sleepy. Nature seemed to have settled down, and took no notice of the little boy with big feet who walked the path. Sheep manure and cow dung dotted the trail, and he had to be careful not to step in it. He walked in a zigzag, hummed a song. Wondered whether he should call his father, but decided against it. There’s got to be a limit, he thought. When Lars Monsen’s out in the wild he doesn’t make calls all the time. Ha! he thought, and quickened his pace. One two, one two, one boot and one shoe. Let the snakes come, I’m wearing good shoes.
When he had found a rhythm, he kept it, marching the trail at a good clip. The rhythm stuck with him and gave him speed and strength, and his thoughts focused on one thing: reaching the water. It’s actually quite easy being a man of the wilderness, he thought, once you’ve made up your mind. And you have to have the right equipment. He felt for the hunting knife to make sure it was still on his belt. When a bird fluttered up from the brush, he started. His heart jumped, but his nerves quickly settled.
The final few metres he walked barefoot.
Over the rocks down to the water. He found a fine place to sit, approaching close enough to the edge that his white toes reached the water.
That water is bloody cold, he thought. That’s what his father would have said, if he sat at his side with his toes in the water. His trainers stood neatly beside him with his socks stuffed inside, like two balls of white cotton. He shrugged off his rucksack and opened it, set his lunch with the three slices of bread next to his shoes. On the other side he put his Thermos with blackcurrant squash, and finally Optimus Prime. Because he’d run the last bit, he was out of breath.
I’m in the wilderness, he thought, and I’m really tough.
On his way up he had carried a strong willow branch. Now he snatched the hunting knife from his belt. He struggled slightly getting it out of the sheath. How quiet everything was. Even the tiniest sound was clear, a mosquito humming over the water, rustling leaves and heather. There probably aren’t any snakes, he thought, looking around. His toes were a tempting offering, perhaps, round and a little like marzipan such as they were. But nothing disturbed him as he sat at the water’s edge. Everything was beautiful and silent. He whittled and whittled on the willow branch. The wood smelled so good.